Unexpected honeymoon
by malintzin
Summary: A vignette set in The healing process verse. One-shot.


So a drabble became a proper vignette set in The Healing Process verse. At the beginning, my wonderful beta wanted a drabble with Richard/Mary and a collarbone kiss. Here it is. Nothing but fluff...

**Unexpected honeymoon**

Opatija was… Well, to be completely honest, Mary was at a loss when it came to describe the place Richard had decided on for their honeymoon. After unending hours of train, they had reached their destination the night before, exhausted by a journey that had taken them from London to the other side of Europe, in this new country called Yougoslavia.

When the train from London had taken them to Dover, Mary anticipated a stay in Paris, and visualized herself strolling on the Champs Elysées, visiting Coco Chanel's boutique. In her musings, she had even imagined herself reluctantly following her husband on this Eiffel tower everybody talked so much about. Alas, their journey barely broke in the French capital, and the only image Mary would keep of the "Ville Lumière" was of the busy, almost chaotic streets she glimpsed from the taxi window that took them from "Gare du Nord" to "Gare de Lyon".

Cautiously, Mary stepped out of their Opatija hotel and blinked against the unforgiving Croatian midday sun. She was not used to such luminosity, and the Baroque facades of white stones - a testimony of the Austrian influence in the area, Richard explained as they had a simple supper on the terrace of of their suite the night before - did nothing to lessen the glare of the sun. The car that was to take her to meet Richard was waiting for her. As a man accustomed to frequent travel, Richard had decided that sleeping in until nine o'clock was entirely sufficient, and he had left her to her restful sleep, not without lavishing her with featherlike kisses on her eyelids, on her nose, on her neck… If the attention pleased Mary, she could not help but feel a bit disappointed when she woke up hours later to an empty bed. Where had the honeymoon spirit gone if her husband of a few weeks behaved in Opatija like he usually did in London? Maybe that should be expected when you did things out of order... Maybe their honeymoon was already behind them and, in the turmoil of the last months, she had not noticed it. Not that their marriage lacked any passion, but Mary had expected... something else. In spite of her most vehement protestations, she still was a romantic to the core - that was why she had clung so long to the dream that was Matthew. However, she was Lady Mary Carlisle now, and for all her husband's misteps, she loved the reality he offered her day after day, even when he abandoned her to an empty bed on the first morning of their honeymoon. The chauffeur politely opened the door for her, greeting her with rather guttural English and extended a gloved hand to help her get in the slightly out of fashion Rolls Royce.

During the drive she mused how they had traveled south from Paris, using the line the French called "PLM", that is to say "Paris – Lyon – Marseille". For a few hours, Mary imagined herself parading on the "Promenade des Anglais" in Nice. For a second, she wondered if he was taking her to Italy before remembering his letters and the frown the evocation of Italian politics brought to his face. Yet, she was glad she had followed Richard's instructions to pack summer dresses even if they had reached the first days of September. Indeed, against all tradition, the newlyweds had decided to settle into their new life in London before leaving for the honeymoon, much to the Crawleys' puzzlement and even indignation.

Mama's worried words still resounded in Mary's ears as the car slalomed through the tortuous streets of Opatija: "You wouldn't have behaved otherwise if you had wanted to reveal how much that wedding of yours is a mere formality." A week before their departure from London, Mama had visited them in London, and had shared her worries with big, shiny round eyes. "_People_ are talking, you know."

Mary closed her eyes against the memories. In spite of Richard's mysterious behavior and a slight disappointment about their destination, she was determined to enjoy her honeymoon, and her husband, thoroughly. She turned her attention back to the strange place where Richard had brought her. The city was a challenge to rational urbanism, as it was built on the small stretch of land between sea and mountain, and Mary had to wonder how the ridiculous houses managed to stand in their foundations. Worse still, the houses she could glimpse through the car window seemed to share an odd resemblance to Haxby and the poor taste of the opulent decorations. Mary smiled as the car slowed down to take a turn downhill. Suddenly, the sea offered itself to her contemplation, in all its glory, a motif of blue-green and blue under the midday sun. In the distance, a few islands broke the monotony of the horizon. If horrible houses were the price to pay for such a discovery, it was a cheap one, Mary decided as she noticed she could glimpse the stones underwater from her position a good five meters above sea level. The car slowed down even more to negotiate the last turn and finally stopped before a sailboat.

Richard deftly jumped to the ground, as she had seen do him a few weeks before when he had taken her family for a little cruise on the Caledonian Canal. Mary waited for the chauffeur to open the door – nothing good would come from appearing too eager to meet her husband in front of a foreigner – and was not entirely surprised to see Richard offer his hand to help her, instead – her husband did not seem to have the same desire to maintain British reputation in a foreign land.

He was the great traveler after all.

Mary's smiled grew wider when she glimpsed his sport shirt, not that dissimilar to the one he wore the first time she visited him in his house in London without Rosamund, the top buttons undone. A bit of unruly blond chest hair could be seen, and his hair was brushed back as if he had just come out of his bath, without the aid of his damn pomade.

"I took the liberty to send most of our things to Split with Anna, and we'll join her by boat. What do you think?"

His stance was confident, but his tone not so much.

"I understood you had enjoyed our cruise back in Scotland very much so I thought…" he trailed on. "Do you want visit the boat? It's very comfortable you know, even by my standards."

Behind them, the chauffeur was struggling with the luggage they were taking with them, and Mary wished he could disappear totally.

"I've already sailed in the region, so there's no risk at all," he went on, clearly puzzled by her reaction, or lack thereof. "But if you don't like it, it's not a problem, I'll cancel everything, and…"

He was rambling now, as he was prone to do when he was nervous.

Mary's smiled grew even wider when the occasion she watched out for came at last as the chauffeur disappeared in the cabin with two suitcases.

Alone at last.

Without a word, she closed the space between them and kissed the skin revealed by the open collar. It tasted clean and salty, and her tongue darted out to lick the remaining salt from his morning dive. Under her lips, she felt him take a deep breath.

"It's perfect."

"So I take it I'm forgiven for our too short stay in Paris?"

Of course, he had felt her disappointment.

"No, but almost."


End file.
